


Silver For Monsters

by Morbid_Hatter



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Doppler!Roche, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/pseuds/Morbid_Hatter
Summary: Most Dopplers are harmless. Most of them. The ones who are not, live for destruction, for the chance to inflict damage when they chose a form to copy.This is the type of Doppler Iorveth and Roche have the misfortune of encountering. This Doppler intends to break both Iorveth and Roche all for more coin than they know what to do with.The Doppler is successful but will the damage be permanent or can the bond between Iorveth and Roche be strong enough to survive being so thoroughly broken down?
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	Silver For Monsters

_ There! _

The tavern was crowded, filled with people eating, drinking, and clapping along with the minstrels who were playing a bawdy tune. But through the unpleasant noises and smells, they spotted their target. 

He was trying to blend in, that much was obvious upon first glance. The elf was keeping to the shadows, his back to the wall, and a hood pulled low over to hide his face from anyone who looked too closely. 

The form they had chosen to mimic was very purposeful - this form was able to zero in on the elf as if an invisible force drew them together. They knew this was a form the elf trusted,  _ loved _ the mimicked body projected. They forced down the useless feelings the form had that they had inherited, but they kept the memories - those, they knew, could be useful later.

There was a warm feeling in their chest when they couldn’t help but notice the slight sway of the elf’s lithe frame, keeping time with the music using his whole body. They grimaced and forced down the sheer intensity of the feeling; this form was more difficult to control than they had imagined.  _ There’s no other way, _ they told themselves, fighting down a shudder of revulsion at the feelings threatening to erupt again.

Only the promise of more coin than they knew what to do with and the wild thrill of breaking someone kept them from turning around and leaving the loud, stinking tavern.  _ But, _ they thought as they picked their way slowly along the wall as to not alert their prey,  _ it will be so satisfying to break the traitor before he burns. _

Their target, Iorveth, former Scoia’tael commander and freedom fighter for non-humans, was humming along with the musicians like he knew the words to the disgusting human songs. It made a spark of anger flare up in their chest, but they forced it down; letting their own emotions win would alert Iorveth that something was wrong and they would have wasted the perfect opportunity. 

The humming stopped when they reached out and grabbed Iorveth’s elbow, coming up on his blind side to purposely startle their quarry. They were mildly disappointed to not get a stronger reaction out of the former Scoia’tael commander. The elf barely reacted to the sudden touch except to relax and turn his head to bring them out of his blind spot. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth greeted warmly with a resplendent smile. They forced their teeth not to grind together as they stamped down the warm feeling the smile ignited in their borrowed form’s chest. “I didn’t expect you for another few days. Did everything go alright? You’re not hurt are you?” Iorveth asked, his voice barely higher than a whisper to keep from drawing attention to them. 

They appreciated that. It would make the surprise all the more satisfying later. 

“Don’t worry about me, Ior. We just finished up quicker than anticipated. Did you  _ want _ me to leave for a few more days?” they asked. They enjoyed the set-up, setting the stage to bring the most hurt later. In another life, they wondered if they could have been an actor - the theater was the perfect place for a Doppler to thrive in, but they knew they’d never be satisfied just  _ playing _ they needed more. 

Iorveth huffed a quiet laugh and stepped closer to them, obviously enjoying the radiating heat a human gave off. “Not at all, my love. You must be tired, though. Let’s go up to the room.” There was something highly suggestive in the elf’s tone and they felt their own revulsion war with the excitement their current form felt. The duality was not normally something they ever had to worry about, but the feelings Vernon Roche had for Iorveth were strong and they anticipated a thrill of breaking not only Iorveth but also the former special forces commander. They were rarely given a two-for-one job like this one.

“Of course,” they said, letting Iorveth lead the way along the wall, keeping on the elf’s blind side so they could signal to the small group of men crowded around a table near the stairs. The group included the man who had hired them, Hierarch Hemmelfart himself, and the jailer who had been one of Radovid’s Witch Hunters before the mad king had been assassinated. It made them nervous, working with someone who was likely responsible for the death of a large number of non-humans, but they had dealt with worse. They were borrowing the face of a notorious hunter of Scoia’tael, after all, even though this particular threat had very obviously been neutered by the very elf they were hunting.

When they were alone in the room Iorveth had been staying in, the elf turned towards them and kissed them while backing them up towards the bed. They allowed it for the short time it took to reach the bed and sit down with a lap full of an enthusiastic elf. A sour, acidic feeling ripped through their guts, they wanted nothing more than to throw the traitor to the ground and kill him themselves. Instead, they slowed the frantic pace of the kiss until they could gently pry Iorveth’s hands and lips away. They wouldn’t get paid if the execution wasn’t public and they wouldn’t get the same satisfaction if they didn’t have the chance to break Iorveth. 

“Sorry, are you too tired? I didn’t think - uh, sorry, Vernon,” Iorveth panted out, sliding off their lap with a pained expression. 

“It’s okay, Ior. But yes, I’m more tired than I thought.” The part of them that  _ was _ Vernon Roche felt bereft of the elf’s touch immediately; the rest of them was glad to no longer be under the slight weight of their target. 

While the feelings and memories of the person they were mimicking could often be frustrating, they were grateful for them at the same time - they knew, instinctually, exactly how to manipulate the situation. They stood and stripped out of the light leather clothing they had conjured up to match what Vernon Roche had left Novigrad in. It itched and chafed, but they figured it was a relic of Roche being uncomfortable out of his Blue Stripes uniform that he had abandoned years ago. 

When they were down to their smalls, they went back to the bed and gestured for Iorveth to join them. The skin on skin contact was burning but they ignored it to allow the elf to settle enough to sleep. 

Quiet settled around them as Iorveth’s breathing evened out in relaxation against their chest where his head was resting. They allowed it, but couldn’t bring themselves to hold the elf closer like Vernon Roche would - while it would be beneficial to use that intimacy against Iorveth later, they  _ couldn’t  _ allow for more contact than was strictly necessary. 

The quiet was interrupted by Iorveth. “Vernon?”

They hummed in response, not bothering to open their eyes to sell the ruse of exhaustion. 

“I’m sorry,” Iorveth whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t mean to make you angry with me.” 

Something heavy like dread dropped into their guts. Had they ruined it? They forced themselves not to tense up, to keep up the illusion for as long as possible. “What do you mean, Ior?” they asked, the deep rumble of the human vocal cords felt grating against their very being, but it seemed to bring some form of comfort to the elf.

“You’re hardly touching me like you can’t bear too. I’m sorry. I know I should have stayed in the room as you said, but I got -” Iorveth took a shaky breath and continued “- I got lonely and the music sounded nice. I was careful, no one recognized me. I just wanted to listen for a while. I’m sorry.” 

This time, the warm feeling in their chest was their own. They were able to keep the delighted smirk off their face, but only just. If keeping Iorveth at a slight distance was enough to make the near-legendary Scoia’tael commander stammer and feel insecure, they couldn’t wait to see what kind of result they got when they put real effort into breaking the elf. 

Vernon Roche’s memories allowed them insight into old arguments about keeping out of sight to protect each other. “I just want to keep you safe,” they said, using Vernon Roche’s reasoning to allow the elf to relax again. “We’ve got no idea who could recognize you.” 

It was true, in a way, they mused. Iorveth had no idea who was around to recognize him, obviously had no idea of the plot that had been brewing since he had been spotted sneaking through the gates like a wraith. 

Iorveth curled closer to them and settled.  _ Pathetic. What would the Scoia’tael think if they could see him? _ They allowed themselves a small smile and allowed the elf to be lulled to sleep by the heavy thud of Vernon Roche’s heartbeat. 

The elf’s breathing soon slowed and his already slow heartbeat evened out into the rhythm of sleep. They gave their target another hour before they slowly and carefully moved out from under their target Iorveth’s nose twitched but otherwise he stayed asleep as he curled around the pillow they had been using. 

They dressed quickly and silently to avoid waking Iorveth too soon. They wouldn’t have bothered normally, but they knew it would add to the agony their target would soon feel. They were thankful that Vernon Roche, regardless of being a blundering human, was small and lightfooted. They were able to sneak out the door without disturbing Iorveth.

“Found him,” they said to the Hierarch once they were close enough to the fat bastard for him to hear them. “He’s asleep upstairs, through the last door on the left.”

“Excellent work, Roche,” Hemmelfart grunted as he took a moment to stop shoving his face with food.

They bristled at being incorrectly called Roche, but that was how they had introduced themselves to the head of Novigrad, they had already been wearing Vernon Roche’s face when they promised they could bring in the notorious Scoia’tael terrorist. “I’ve fought against him enough to know how to get the drop on him.” 

Hemmelfart brayed an obnoxious laugh and waved the wall of muscle across the table from him up the stairs. “The rumors say you’ve been ploughing him for years. That part of your plan?”

“An unfortunate part, yes. I figured it best to keep my enemy as close as possible until the best time to bring him in.” 

They fell silent as did the rest of the tavern patrons when the sounds of a scuffle and muffled shouting reached them. “The most profitable time, you mean,” Hemmelfart said as he handed a large bag of orens over to them just as the burly jailer dragged a bound and gagged Iorveth down the stairs. 

The frantic look in Iorveth’s remaining eye was almost,  _ almost, _ payment enough. But they weren’t done yet. They bared Vernon Roche’s teeth in a parody of a smile as Iorveth was dragged in front of them. The look changed from frantic to heartbroken in the span of seconds as Iorveth saw the exchange. “A pleasure doing business with you, Hierarch."

The muffled screams and pleas as Iorveth was dragged away was the sweetest music.

\----------

When the door had burst open Iorveth’s first thought was that Vernon had been right, they had been found. But then he became aware of his surroundings and a heavy stone settled in his stomach. He was alone save for the massive human who rushed at him before he could untangle himself from the blankets around his waist. 

He hoped Vernon had the sense to stay away as he tried to hurry away from the towering human and the heavy mace swinging towards him. He made as much noise as possible to alert Vernon if he was close enough to hear the racket, there was no reason for them both to get caught.

The mace made contact across his back and shoulder as he tried to duck and spin away from his attacker. He dropped like a stone as the pain exploded from the hit and he blacked out.

It couldn't have been more than a minute or two before he came to, pain making his vision spotty while he was being dragged down the stairs by a heavy set of manacles binding his wrists together. 

The light in the tavern made his eye water as he frantically looked around the room, hoping that he could spot Vernon in the crowd.

When he did, he wished he hadn't. The stone that had settled in his stomach turned to ice. He yelled for Vernon even as he saw the large bag of coins being handed to his lover by Hemmelfart. He felt his heart break at the wicked, wide smile on Vernon's face. The gag muffled his pleas even as he stopped struggling and went limp as his captor dragged him out of the tavern and through the streets.

Vaguely he was aware of the searing pain in his shoulder and the deep chill prickling across his skin. It was quiet now, the only sound was the crackle of a fire that did nothing to warm him. 

Iorveth slowly opened his eye and took in his surroundings. He must have lost consciousness sometime after being captured. He was now in what looked like a jail cell, no longer bound but he was locked up behind the barred door. 

Finally, he noticed he wasn't alone. Close to the fireplace was a heavy desk where Vernon had kicked his feet up while he casually lounged in the equally heavy wooden chair. 

Regardless of the ache of betrayal he still couldn’t help but feel a strange comfort in the familiar way Vernon was spinning a knife between his fingers, casual elegance in the practiced motion. "Ah! You're awake!" Vernon said with a gleeful smile. "Now I can finally get to my favorite part." Vernon didn't elaborate on what his favorite part was, but Iorveth had a feeling he knew.

Iorveth sat up as best he could and used the cold stone wall at his back to keep his shoulder in a position where it wouldn’t hurt as badly as lying on his side had caused him. "I don't understand. What's going on?" He couldn’t help but ask, silently pleading for an answer that would make sense of the evening. 

Vernon laughed, but it sounded wrong, false. "Tell me you're not that pathetic,  _ Squirrel, _ " Vernon taunted, turning the endearment into what could only be interpreted as a racial slur. "You can't honestly believe I wanted anything to do with you, that  _ anyone  _ would want you."

Iorveth curled his legs up to his chest, hiding his face in his knees so Vernon couldn't see the tears the harsh words immediately brought to his eye. 

"Poor little  _ Squirrel,  _ so desperate and lonely that he'd believe anything I said."

Iorveth took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing, broken heart. "Why?" He asked, shame making his voice crack around the single syllable. 

Vernon laughed again. Iorveth heard a light clatter like he had put the knife down and a heavy thud of a pair of boots hitting the stone floor. He kept his head buried in his knees, too ashamed to look up and see the contempt on his lover's face that he could hear in his voice. "Why, you ask? Let me tell you,  _ Squirrel.  _ I get the pleasure of being the one to turn you in and see you pay for your crimes, and I get paid for the pleasure. It's a win-win situation for me. Well, not entirely." 

Vernon's voice was suddenly much closer than it had been. Iorveth risked a glance up at him.

"I did have to swallow my disgust every time you touched me. I had to close my eyes and picture someone,  _ anyone _ , else every time we fucked." 

The tears fell anew, Iorveth didn’t try to stop them. He wanted to feel them burn across his cheek, he wanted to feel something other than the agony Vernon's words caused.

Iorveth bit back the apology that instantly sprang up and hid his face in his knees again. He bit his tongue hard so he would stay silent, hoping that it would stop if he didn’t respond. 

"Done already,  _ Squirrel _ ? Pity, I guess we'll have to resume our little chat later when you're willing to participate." There was a pause and some shuffling before something soft hit his bare legs. "Put that on. I don’t want to have to see that disgusting mess of your face. I don’t want to stop our chat next time to vomit."

The door to the jail opened and let in a rush of cold air. As it closed again, Iorveth lost his battle with himself and gasped a quiet "I'm sorry," as he scrambled to cover the mangled right side of his face. 

\-- 

"Are you ready to talk now,  _ Squirrel? _ Or am I to carry our conversation all on my own?"

Iorveth didn’t know how long he had been alone. The fire had died out and the jail was underground, he couldn’t use the sun or moon to track the time. 

He didn't respond, he just watched Vernon move around the outside of the cell, lit the fire, and sat himself down in the chair as he had the last time.

"There are plenty of things I'd rather be doing than sitting here," Vernon said casually as he slid the heavy chair closer to the desk. Iorveth saw him pull out the heavy-looking bag of coins. "But they did pay me well, so I will make sure to complete the job." As if to emphasize his point, he tipped some of the coins out onto the desk and started to count them out loud. 

Iorveth gritted his teeth against the oppressive silence that was only broken by the clink of coins falling against each other as they were counted. Vernon didn't seem affected by the atmosphere like Iorveth was. He took a slow, steadying breath and tried to get his emotions under control. It had never been an issue before he had fallen for Vernon. Before, when he was still a respected leader of the Scoia’tael, the only emotion he allowed himself to show was anger. 

Now though, he couldn’t summon the same anger that had fueled him for so long. Now, he felt like he was drowning in emotions like he was stuck in a maelstrom of swirling pain and sadness and shame. "Did you ever mean it?" He asked, voice hollow.

Vernon smiled slowly, obviously delighted that Iorveth broke his silence. "No. I've been waiting for the most profitable time to turn you in." He picked up and slowly dropped a handful of orens to prove his point. "And the Hierarch was more than willing to pay the full price on your head. In fact, they're going to make a day of it. They're going to celebrate while they burn you at the stake."

Vernon stopped and leveled Iorveth with a look like he was prompting Iorveth to respond. 

He didn't want to, but he still found himself wanting to make Vernon happy. He had wanted nothing more than for Vernon to have all the happiness Iorveth could manage to give him for over four years, and he couldn’t help but want to continue doing so, even though it had all been a lie. "Will you be there to celebrate too?" He didn't really want to know, but he couldn’t help but ask anyway.

"Naturally. I've spent so long waiting for the day I could watch you die. The only thing I regret is that I won't have the pleasure of lighting the pyre myself." The dark smile was back, showing too many teeth to be mistaken for anything resembling friendliness. "But this is only half my payment. I don’t get the rest until after the Hierarch sets you to torch.

"That's why I get to have the pleasure of breaking you,  _ Squirrel.  _ Hemmelfart and I came to an agreement: since he has claimed the pleasure of killing you, he's granted me time to thoroughly break you."

Iorveth watched Vernon silently, his head resting against the cold stone wall behind him, any urge he had to ask any of the other questions swirling around in his head was gone. He had tortured himself enough for a lifetime, he wasn’t going to keep doing so during his limited remaining time. 

Instead, he kept his mouth shut and let himself fade back to a time he had been happy. It was a lie, nothing about the moment had been true except his own feelings. 

_ "Ior? I - can you - I got you something," Vernon was fiddling with something he kept hidden in his hands.  _

_ Iorveth found himself smiling at the endearing nervousness as he closed the distance between them and pressed a chaste kiss to Vernon's lips. He tried to pour every feeling into the kiss, the full-body warmth that he felt every time they were together. "Am I allowed to have it, my love?" _

_ Vernon nodded, momentarily struck dumb by the kiss. "I uh - I noticed that your hair keeps falling out of the braid and you get this cute little pout every time you push it out of your face. And - you said elves - it's a big deal to gift your intended with - fuck." Vernon stomped his foot in frustration. Iorveth hid a smile behind his hand and felt his breath catch in his chest. "I wanted to do right by you and get you something to show you how much I love you." _

_ Vernon opened his hand and Iorveth couldn’t help but gasp. Resting in Vernon's palm was a hairpin shaped like a sprig of forget-me-not's whose petals were small gemstones and weaved together with silver stems. "You know what these are for right?" Iorveth asked, his voice shaking like his hand as he reached for the gift. _

_ "Of course I do. Or, I hope I got it right. It's a betrothal gift." _

_ Iorveth nodded stupidly but turned his head slightly to the side. "Then you know you’re supposed to put it in my hair, right?"  _

_ Vernon didn't seem to need any other prompting. He jumped to action and tucked Iorveth’s dark hair out of his face and pinned it back. "So, just to be sure...that's you accepting my proposal right?" _

_ "Yes," he whispered his reply against Vernon's lips, the kiss was disrupted by the wide smile but neither of them cared. _

"Now, that's enough of that, _ Squirrel.  _ It's rude to ignore company like that," Vernon taunted. He was leaning against the heavy bars, as close as he could be without getting into the cell with him.

"I'm sorry, Vernon." He ran his shaking fingers through his tangled hair and they caught on the betrothal gift still pinned to his hair. "At first I assumed this relationship was all some kind of ruse, some way for you to get close enough for you to kill me." Iorveth laughed at the irony of his old thoughts and fears coming true. "But time went on and I figured no one was that good at keeping up a con, not after almost five years. I got complacent." 

Roche looked like someone had given him the best gift of his life, it was a twisted copy of the same look he had on his face after Iorveth accepted his proposal. It had been an impressive farce, one that Vernon didn't seem worried about using anymore now that he didn't have to pretend.

"I'm sorry you had to pretend to care about me for so long, to force yourself not to flinch when you saw my face, or when I kissed you. I'm sorry." He couldn’t help the warble in his voice or the tears falling again. 

"I'll consider us even when you're nothing but ash," Vernon hissed, letting Iorveth see the hate and disdain he felt.

Iorveth took a moment to pull the pin out of his hair. He held onto it and tried to burn the memory of how happy he had been when Vernon first pinned it in place. "You can have this back. It was probably expensive. You could probably sell it as long as you don't tell anyone who wore it." He gently tossed it across the cell so that Vernon could easily catch it.

Instead of reaching for the pin, he hissed angrily and stepped away. "I don't want that thing anywhere near me. Or your stupid flower." Vernon smiled meanly and walked away from the cell. "I'll be back soon,  _ Squirrel." _

\--

Iorveth lost track of how many more times Vernon came back. With no way to keep track of the time, he couldn’t be bothered with counting how often Vernon would come to torment him further.

"Pathetic. What would the Scoia’tael think of you? Broken and tearful because you believed a lie."

"- no one could ever love you -"

"- I'm going to spend a full day in the bath once you're dead. I'll need it to scrub the filth from my skin -"

"- you’re still calling me Vernon?  _ Pathetic  _ -"

Every insult was crafted to cause the most pain. It was what Vernon had been good at while he was King Foltest's right hand, and he hadn’t lost the skill.

All Iorveth could manage was a miserable chant of "I'm sorry. Stop.  _ Please _ . I'm sorry," that he spoke into the hard ground. He had long ago lost the will to sit up. He curled up and wrapped his arms around his chest to hold himself in a facsimile of how Vernon had held him as they slept spooned together. He knew, vaguely, that he was being pathetic and weak but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he was getting closer and closer to the end. 

He had been left alone in the dark for a while, the only sound was his own ragged breathing until a ringing bang echoed across the stone walls. Iorveth couldn’t bring himself to check on the disturbance. Instead, he started humming his part of  _ Stella Splendens _ and blindly traced the delicate gemstone petals of the pin he had managed to crawl across his cell to retrieve. 

The door slammed open and he heard Vernon's familiar voice calling out to him.

He curled up tighter and hid his head in his arms. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I get it, it was all a ruse. You never loved me. I understand. I'll go quietly, I promise. Just - stop.  _ Please _ ." He was babbling but he couldn’t seem to stop the flow of pleas and apologies. Maybe, he figured, if he said the right thing, Vernon would just let him be and keep the memories of being happy before he died.

"Iorveth, my love, what happened?" 

The confusion and concern in the familiar deep timber was too much. He whined pitifully and pushed himself as close to the opposite wall as much as he could. Maybe if he curled himself up tighter and took up less space, it would all go away.

\---------

When Roche passed through the Hierarch gates, he felt something resembling dread weigh him down. He gripped the pommel of his Falchion and he hurried to the inn, feeling exposed even in the middle of a crowd.

Most of the people out and about seemed to be milling about in Hierarch Square and watching as several officers were busy building what Roche assumed was a pyre.

The assumption grew a knot of panic in his throat. He tried to listen in to conversations as he made his way through the crowds towards the inn where he had paid for a room for Iorveth for the week. He tried to listen, but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. 

Roche felt the panic rise and spread out to the tips of his fingers and his toes when he saw the mess of the room Iorveth should have been in. "Fuck," he whispered into the stale air and turned an about-face to retrace his steps back towards the Square. 

If anyone asked him later, he wouldn't be able to tell them how he got past the guards and into the underground cells. He had been blind to anything except his burning need to find his beloved, though the blood that covered his Falchion painted a gory picture of what had happened.

When he found him, after forcing his way through a heavy door, he could hardly believe what he was seeing or hearing. "Iorveth, my love, what happened?" He tore through the drawers of the large desk until his fingers curled around the key. 

Roche didn’t realize he had been crying until he saw teardrops fall onto Iorveth bare skin. "Iorveth, my sweet Squirrel, what happened?"

Iorveth didn’t seem to be fully aware of his surroundings. His back and right shoulder were the deep color of a painful-looking deep purple bruise and his normally cool skin was clammy and feverish. Roche felt something painful squeeze at his heart at the absolute agony on Iorveth’s angular face, despite the surprising lack of the multitude of physical wounds usually inflicted on prisoners in Novigrad. Iorveth was repeating the same phrases over and over again in Elder, Roche worried that Iorveth wasn’t aware that he had reverted to his native tongue. 

He slowly, so slowly, reached for Iorveth, projecting his movements with a low commentary. “It’s okay, my love. I just need to help you sit up. It’s okay, Ior. We’ll get you out of here, Squirrel.” 

Something he said seemed to reach Iorveth through his continuous apologies. Iorveth turned his face away from his knees and turned to look at Roche, but he wasn’t sure Iorveth was aware enough to hear him. “V’rn’n?” Iorveth slurred, barely reacting as Roche carefully maneuvered his lover into a sitting position. 

Roche shushed him with a gentle hand on Iorveth’s uninjured shoulder. He allowed himself a moment to panic as the commotion aboveground echoed down to the cell. With the volume of the noise and the near-catatonic state of Iorveth, there was no way he could fight his way to get them anywhere safe especially if he was doing so with a condemned prisoner in his arms. 

“We have to move, my love, I’m sorry,” he said, quickly pressing his nose into Iorveth’s temple. He slid one of his arms under Iorveth’s knees and the other behind his back before he stood up and moved into an open corner where they wouldn't cast a shadow and ruin the illusion. He tucked his cloak around Iorveth’s bare shoulders in the hopes it would slow Iorveth’s shivering. “Hush, love. We have to hold still, okay. I’ll get us out of here, just hold on and hold still for me.” 

It was a long shot, the charm was several years old now - never activated but still worn under his clothes every time he went out on a mission as both a good luck charm and a means of escape - but he trusted Triss’s magic to hold long enough for the guards thundering down the stone steps to see an empty cell and assume they had escaped. 

Roche made sure he tucked Iorveth as close as possible to his chest and slid the leather cord over his beloved’s head so they were both protected by the magic. He closed his eyes tight and activated the charm. “I love you,” he whispered directly against Iorveth’s dark hair. If the charm didn’t work, if this was how they would die, he wanted the last words he said to Iorveth to be a reaffirmation of his love. 

He held Iorveth close and hardly dared to breathe, convinced that the slightest movement would deactivate the perception charm and alert the guards to their position. Roche kept his entire focus on Iorveth, trying to reassure his lover with his presence alone. The door slammed shut and all of a sudden, it was like he could take a deep breath again. He slumped down against the wall and wrapped his arms around Iorveth in a hug. 

Roche didn’t dare move more than it took to get them into a more comfortable position that wouldn’t put pressure on Iorveth’s shoulder. He wouldn’t make a move towards the door until the city went quiet, he couldn’t risk it. 

Iorveth stirred against Roche’s chest but made no move to get up. “V’rn’n? ‘M sorry,” he rasped hoarsely. “You c’n go.” 

Roche wished he had his things with him, at least a waterskin to give to Iorveth. He wanted to put some bruise cream across Iorveth’s back and wrap his shoulder, he wanted to let him soak in a hot bath and curl up in a comfortable bed, but the only thing he could do for now was hold onto him. 

“I missed you while I was gone, you know,” he said, voice low and soothing. He tugged Iorveth’s bandana off and started running his fingers through Iorveth’s soft but tangled dark hair. Roche let the familiar rhythm help to calm his racing heart. He started humming an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him as a child, hoping to provide some level of comfort to Iorveth who was still distressed. 

He was relaxed, more so than the stressful situation should allow, and he blamed the relaxation on why it took him so long to realize Iorveth was suppressing sobs by biting his lip hard enough to bleed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he realized what was happening, gently freeing Iorveth’s abused lip from between his teeth. “What’s the matter, Squirrel?”

Iorveth whined, high and agonized as one shaking hand darted out from where it had been tucked against Iorveth’s chest to grab his discarded bandana. Roche let his hand drop from Iorveth’s hair as the distressed elf batted it away and hastily tucked the crimson fabric back into place. Iorveth hid his face in his knees as best he could while still tethered close to Roche under the charm. “Don’t. Please,” he whispered weakly. 

Roche was confused. He understood psychological torment, how it could break a captive more thoroughly than thumbscrews and hot irons, but he didn’t understand how Iorveth broke so quickly. His strong and fierce betrothed wasn’t one to bend and break easily. He could feel rage growing in his chest, but he had no close where to direct it, so he let it simmer and build up. 

It had gone quiet between them, Iorveth was no longer shaking but Roche couldn’t bring himself to break the fragile silence in case he said something damaging without meaning to. 

Moments later, Iorveth broke the silence himself. “Why ‘r you here?” 

“Where else would I be?” he asked, confused by the question. It wasn’t what he had expected to hear when Iorveth opened his mouth to speak. Admittedly, he didn’t have much clue what to expect, but the dejected inquiry as to why he was sitting with Iorveth wasn’t at all what he expected.

“Cuz you said - said that it was all a lie - that you never - that you didn’t -” Iorveth stuttered out, unable or unwilling to finish his sentence. 

“Ior, what did I say was a lie?” Roche asked, sure that he could infer what Iorveth was trying to say, but was lost on when he was meant to have said it.

“Us,” Iorveth answered, looking down at something in his hands. “Said it was s-so you could t-turn me in and m-make a bunch of coin. S-said you c-couldn’t stand t-touching me.” 

Roche felt his heart shatter even as his head spun in confusion. “Oh Squirrel, what did they do to you?” Iorveth made the same high, distressed whine again before he tried to push away from Roche. 

“Don’t call me that! Don’t fucking  _ touch me _ !” Iorveth demanded. He slipped the leather cord off over his head and tried to push himself away from Roche. He could only watch as Iorveth curled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his knees. “You lied to me for  _ years _ . Fuck you, Roche.” 

He wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the surety in Iorveth’s voice when he spoke of Roche’s supposed lies or the way he spat out his surname. Not once in all the years they had known each other, even at their most antagonistic, had Iorveth referred to him as just ‘Roche’. It had been infuriating at first but then it grew into something special; Iorveth was the only living person who had the balls to call him anything other than Roche and he made sure it stayed that way. Iorveth was the only one allowed to call him by his given name.

The contempt surrounding his surname turned it into an insult that hurt worse than almost any wound he had ever suffered at Iorveth’s hands while they had been enemies. “Ior, I don’t understand. I just got back. I wasn’t in Novigrad more than an hour before I found you.” He removed the charm and set it on the ground next to him, just in case they would need it in a hurry. Once it was safe, he moved a few short inches towards Iorveth.

He stopped moving when Iorveth’s head snapped up and he leveled Roche with a furious glare. “I know it was you. I  _ know you _ .” Iorveth shook his head and broke eye contact, focusing instead on whatever was still held tight in his hand. “Or, I thought I knew you. I’m not crazy, you’re making the ‘he’s being crazy’ face. It was you.”

Roche was at a loss. He would never say anything like that to Iorveth, he could never lie to his beloved like that; but he had no way to prove it, only his word that he wasn’t in the city long before he came to find Iorveth. 

“I’m sorry, my love. I wish I knew what they did to you to make you believe I don’t love you with everything I have but -” he was cut off before he could continue. Something struck him in the chest, not hard enough to physically hurt, but he felt his heart break further when he saw what Iorveth had thrown at him. He picked up the silver and sapphire hairpin he had given Iorveth earlier that year when he stuttered through his proposal. “This was a gift, Ior. You keep it. I got it special for you.” 

Iorveth laughed, hollow and broken, before he looked at Roche again, a dead look in the normally vibrant green of his iris. “If you have to close your eyes and imagine you’re with someone else when you fuck me, it’s not very special is it?”

If Iorveth was repeating what he had been hearing, Roche could understand why Iorveth was having a difficult time believing him. Whatever had happened, whatever they did to him to make Iorveth believe that their relationship had been a lie, had been horrifyingly effective. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes to rid himself of the tears that had welled up at Iorveth’s question. “Gods, Ior. I - fuck. That’s so far from true. You’re it for me. There’s no one else, there could never be anyone else that could ever hope to compare to you.” He shuffled closer to Iorveth and pushed the hairpin closer while remaining a respectful distance away. “If you don’t want it or me anymore, you keep that for now and if you want to, you can sell it later after we get out of here.” 

He leaned against the wall and let his head hit the stone with a satisfying thump. It wasn’t hard enough to do any lasting damage but enough to sting. “I agonized over what to give you,” Roche confessed, speaking into the empty air, unsure if Iorveth was listening to him. “I have a tragic lack of romanticism, but I knew I couldn’t fuck that up. If I did, I’d never get another shot. After I found out what a traditional elven betrothal gift usually entailed, I panicked over what I wanted to represent. I mean, there’s so much about you that I absolutely adore, but what to make a promise of forever on? I’m sure I could’ve done better. Sorry, it’s so lousy.” 

He hadn’t meant to dig up his own insecurities, but he couldn’t help thinking the small pin wasn’t  _ enough _ . It had cost him every oren he had saved up, a pitiful amount really. He had tried to blend two completely different customs together - the hairpin representing what he most treasured about their relationship, and a display of the promise to provide for his intended - and he had failed on both accounts. He could barely afford even the most basic of trinkets, it was small enough to be completely hidden in Iorveth’s palm. 

An ache grew in his chest. If he had just been _ better _ , Iorveth wouldn’t have had reason to doubt his love. He had failed. Again. And maybe that was his legacy, the thing everyone would remember about Vernon Roche: the man who couldn’t stop the assassination of his king, who couldn’t save his unit from being executed, who couldn’t be enough for the love of his life. 

The rage that had been simmering in his chest dissolved, leaving a gaping chasm of  _ emptiness _ in its wake. He’d give it another five minutes before he’d risk checking the stairwell for anyone searching for them. He could keep his mouth shut for five minutes.

With fifteen seconds left, he reached for the charm and tossed it to Iorveth. “I know you want nothing to do with me anymore, but will you wear that? If you’re not moving no one can see you. Just in case something goes horribly wrong, I want you to have it so you’ve got a chance to get out.” 

He stood without waiting for Iorveth’s reply, he knew he wouldn’t get one. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I do love you, Iorveth. With everything I have. I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to prove that.” Roche reached for one of his daggers - better than his Falchion for tight spaces - and crept silently towards the door. 

Before he reached the door, a commotion broke out over their heads. Roche strained to hear and shook his head to get the sound of his own voice out of his head. 

“If you’ve already checked the cell, spread out and search elsewhere. I’ll fucking check it again myself.”

Roche stopped short and slid one foot slightly behind him to give himself the strength to launch himself at whoever opened the door. “What the fuck?” he heard himself as the door swung open and he came face to face with himself.

\---------

Iorveth had seen many strange things in his long life, but watching two Vernon Roche’s square off had to be one of the strangest. They were exactly alike down to the smallest scar on the knuckle on their pinky fingers from a fall during childhood. 

He shook his head, wondering if he had finally succumbed to the fever which had settled in his skin from being exposed to the cold for too long. But no, even after a thorough head shake, there were still two Vernon Roche’s, now circling each other waiting for the other to attack or leave an opening. 

It was mesmerizing as much as it was disorientating. He gasped as the answer came to him and all the agony and pain and anger boiled over. “He’s a Doppler!” Iorveth called out, throwing off the enchanted trinket so he didn’t have to worry about accidentally tripping up his Vernon or getting in the way of their fight.

A Doppler not only mimicked a person physically, but they copied their voice, mannerisms, and had access to all the person’s memories. Iorveth had only met a small handful of Dopplers and they had all been harmless, but this one obviously was an outlier. Vernon and the Doppler turned the fight into a dance, anticipating each other’s moves and giving no quarter to his opponent. 

They clashed and broke apart until one was able to stab his opponent in the thigh with his dagger. In turn, he was only just able to dodge a swipe at his chest, leaving a bleeding gash along his pectoral. 

“Think, Iorveth,” he groused at himself, knocking his fist into his forehead to try and jog his memory. With both Vernon and the mimic bleeding heavily, the stone floor was growing slippery, it was only a matter of time before one fell. Iorveth had to make sure the right one fell, he wanted to watch the light fade out of the Doppler’s eyes for all the pain the copy-cat had caused. 

The fight was moving closer to where he was kneeling, trying to keep out of the way, ready to move quickly if necessary, things like a fractured shoulder and a fever were inconsequential at the moment, minor annoyances he could easily block out. Iorveth felt a feral grin curl across his lip and he slid the pin from the flower ornamentation of Vernon’s betrothal gift and held it steady as he waited for his opening. 

As Vernon and the Doppler attacked each other Iorveth got close to one of them and reached out to brush the end of the silver pin against bare skin. He berated himself silently for losing track of the Vernon who had been sitting with him before they had been joined by the double, but he had a plan now, and his lack of focus would  _ not _ be the end of them. The Vernon with the cut across his chest was the real one, he hadn’t reacted in the slightest to the silver touching his bare skin. And it had touched, Iorveth made sure of it. 

They spun away from him, his Vernon pushing the imposter back away from Iorveth, teeth bared in a feral grin to match the one on his own face. Now that he knew which was which, he wondered how he hadn’t recognized it before. Before he could get too far into his own head, criticizing himself for missing obvious clues, he crept along the wall and waited for the split second where they would part after parrying the other’s attack. 

In an instant, Iorveth tackled the imposter around the waist and brought him down to the ground. 

“Aww, did the poor, pathetic  _ Squirrel _ finally grow a backbone?” the Doppler taunted. “We were beginning to wonder if all the stories about you were made up, that you had always been the human’s  _ bitch _ .” 

“You tell me if they’re true or not,” Iorveth growled out and used all the strength he had left to force the thin piece of silver into the vulnerable thin skin across the pulse in the Doppler’s neck. “Silver is for monsters,  _ bitch _ .” He stayed still, keeping hold of the pin so the Doppler couldn’t pull it out as it burned away the mimic around the wound, leaving a glimpse of the real form showing through, their flesh searing and blistering from the silver as they choked and bled to death under Iorveth’s hand. 

He waited until the pulse of blood around the puncture wound stopped before he tore the pin out and threw himself away from the Doppler’s still body. “Fuck.  _ Fuck _ ,” he managed weakly before the vision of watching himself stab Vernon in the neck caught up with him and he gagged. 

A pair of warm, familiar arms circled his waist and pulled him back against Vernon’s chest where he could feel the strong heartbeat against his back. “Fuck is right, my love,” Vernon said, sounding equally disgusted and impressed. Iorveth let himself be pulled into Vernon’s lap, both of them still looking at the corpse sprawled out on the stone floor. They were sitting just outside of the rapidly spreading pool of blood. “We should move. Hang on a moment,” Vernon said, giving Iorveth a few seconds before he stood up, Iorveth in his arms.

Vernon sat him down on the desktop before he moved to collect the discarded enchantment and frown at the copy of his body on the ground. “Did you have to make such a mess? We could have stolen his clothes so you won’t freeze,” he asked with a smile, clearly amused with how Iorveth had chosen to dispatch the threat. Iorveth shrugged and pulled Vernon’s cloak tighter around his shoulders. “‘Silver is for monsters, bitch’ you sound just like Geralt, my love.” 

Iorveth shook his head. “No, Geralt wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. He’d probably figure out what was going on well before we did.”

He lost his train of thought as Vernon tugged his jerkin and shirt off before handing the shirt over to Iorveth. He took it without much thought, too intent on tracing over every inch of exposed skin before Vernon slid his jerkin back on.  _ Damn shame _ , he couldn’t help but think. 

Because he  _ could _ think that, he realized with a start. It had all been the Doppler, none of it was true. He  _ hadn’t  _ lost everything, Vernon still loved him. 

“Not true,” Vernon countered, looking at him like he was very aware of Iorveth’s intense gaze directed towards him. “No matter how much Geralt cares for his sorceress, whichever one he’s actually with - it’s hard to keep track, the Doppler had more it could use against us than if it were Geralt in our situation.” 

Iorveth hid the sudden redness of his ears and cheeks by quickly tugging loose the cloak to slip into Vernon’s shirt. It hung off his shoulders but it would do to keep his torso warmer until they could get his things from the room, assuming any of it was still there. “As much as it pains me to admit this, but it’s probably been days since I’ve eaten and I can hardly sit up without losing my balance,” he stopped and had to stamp down the dark voice whispering  _ weak _ and  _ pathetic _ in his ear. 

“Of course, love,” Vernon replied instantly, saving him the indignity of finishing his request. Vernon slid between Iorveth’s knees and tugged him closer until there was only a breath between them. “First, before I do,” Vernon hesitated for a moment before he squared his shoulders. “Can I kiss you?”

The feeling wrapping itself around his shoulders wasn’t something Iorveth could name, but he liked it, regardless of the tears welling up in his eye. He tried to say yes, but he couldn’t unstick his tongue or get his jaw to cooperate. There was something so enchanting and precious in Vernon asking permission for a kiss after what they had gone through separately and together, that stitched together some wound Iorveth wasn’t even aware he had. Instead of speaking, he nodded enthusiastically. 

Part of him was disappointed that he was unable to hold onto Vernon like he wanted to, but if they were going out in the open for any length of time, bloody handprints on Vernon’s waist would draw unwanted attention their way. 

\-- 

Once back in the room he had been staying in before his capture, Iorveth allowed himself to relax and let Vernon handle things for the moment. He felt himself slip off to sleep while Vernon slowly and carefully washed the blood off his hands and arms and tuck him in under what felt like every blanket in creation. He woke momentarily as Vernon slipped into the bed behind him and pressed a kiss to his hair with a whispered apology.

Both Iorveth and Vernon woke with the sunrise, a usual occurrence when they weren’t safe in their own home. Iorveth turned as best he could while still wrapped up tightly under the blankets until he could face Vernon who had yet to move from where he had laid behind Iorveth. “Why’d you say sorry last night after you were done fixing me up?” 

Vernon sighed and ran a heavy hand through his shaggy hair. Some days Iorveth missed the old Temerian military regulation cut where he could delight in the prickle of the sheared sides but could still grip tight to the longer wavy hair on top of his head. Every other day, Iorveth felt a proud simmer of possessiveness when he could spot the small fishtail braid tucked behind Vernon’s ear amongst the golden-brown waves. 

“It was for a lot of things, Squirrel.” Iorveth tried and failed to suppress the involuntary flinch at the endearment which had almost been ruined forever. “Sorry. That fucking Doppler used it as a slur, I’m guessing?” 

Iorveth nodded but kissed Vernon on the nose. “It’s more to do with the tone they used. I can hear the difference, but it may take me some time to stop flinching. I’m sorry, Vernon.” 

Vernon held a finger up to Iorveth’s lips, stopping him from continuing his apology. “My turn, love. I said it because I feel like I failed you. Constantly. If I had done more to show you how much you mean to me, maybe it would have been harder for you to believe the shit the Doppler said while wearing my face. Fuck, there’s a lot I’m sorry for, Ior,” Vernon said before he tucked his head under Iorveth’s, using the difference in their height to his advantage to hide away. 

Iorveth let him and relaxed in the secure grip Vernon had around his waist. “I’m sorry I managed to lose the hairpin. I really loved it. Forget-me-nots are my favorite,” he said into Vernon’s hair, a stray tear streaking down the sharp slope of his cheek. 

Vernon froze before he got off the bed and grabbed something off the table. “You didn’t lose it. You were still holding onto it when we got back here. I had to pry open your fingers to get to it so I could clean the Doppler blood off it, Vernon rambled before he hesitantly held it out, as if he was unsure Iorveth would take it back. “I know it’s not much, I didn’t have enough to get you something better, something you deserve to have, but I did steal the bag of orens the Doppler was carrying before we left. I could get you something better now.” 

Iorveth took the dainty pin with its sapphire petals and silver stems and leveled a stern frown at Vernon. “Absolutely not,” he protested fiercely, tucking back the hair that never wanted to stay braided and pinning it in place before Vernon could try and take it back. “Not only is it beautiful, but it also represents fidelity and true love.  _ And _ ” he added with a sharp jab at the bandage wrapped around Vernon’s chest where the Doppler had cut him with a dagger, “I saved our lives with this. It is perfect and you can pry it from my cold, dead hands before I let you try and replace it.”

“Thanks, Squirrel,” Vernon said, his voice choked and cracked with emotion. Vernon tucked himself under Iorveth’s chin again. “We’ll need to go soon. I don’t want to risk getting caught when the Hierarch finds his prisoner escaped and a corpse in the middle of his jailer’s office.” 

_ Valid point _ , Iorveth thought to himself as he nodded in agreement and allowed himself to get tangled up in Vernon’s limbs. “One thing though, that the Doppler brought up. You do tend to close your eyes a lot when we have sex. If you’re not picturing someone else, what are you doing?”

Vernon whined and Iorveth watched an embarrassed flush crawl up Vernon’s neck. He mumbled something unintelligible against Iorveth’s chest.

“What was that, love? I couldn’t catch what it was you said,” Iorveth teased. The flush was a good sign and he wanted to know what made the delightful shade of pink make its way low on Vernon’s chest. 

“I said: Temerian troop divisions. I’m mentally listing all the Temerian troop divisions. It gives me something to focus on that’s not so godsdamned overwhelming. If I didn’t everything would be over way too soon way too often. You’re too fucking pretty for your own good, Squirrel,” Vernon answered with a pout.

“When we get home, I’m going to make you keep your eyes on me the whole time. I’m going to take you apart and  _ ruin _ you,” Iorveth promised. He laughed as Vernon jumped up and rushed them through getting dressed, an entirely different but equally enticing flush spreading across his skin that Iorveth couldn’t wait to follow with his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for hanging in with me through this. I've been having a shit few weeks and I needed some way to work through it, so I figured why not put these two through something and come out the other side healing and in one piece.


End file.
